Strange Days
by adinaj69
Summary: Pre LOTR/War of the Ring. Legolas is only 70, and a shadow is brewing in southern Mirkwood. His older brother returns from Rivendell to find these are strange days indeed! Chapter 3 is up! First 3 chappies are more or les PG. R/R please!
1. Reunited

A lean hand reached across a pale brow, in an effort to block a slight amount of the sun's rays, to clear vision. Clear gray eyes scanned the lands in front of them, looking for a sign of movement – he was looking for a certain someone.  A grin formed across pale pink lips when something was finally spotted, and heels gently spurred into the side of Lagortâl, a mighty horse. Dust stirred, leaves flew from the ground, and spirits became high as Lagortâl broke into a run, spotting the same thing his rider did.

"Näurolas!" The elf could ear his name being shouted, even at such a far distance. He broke into a run, his long blond hair blowing in the winds as he advanced. Despite the weight of a quiver full of arrows, a sword of great elven-craft – light, yet still bulky compared to his normal fare of knives, and a pack heavy enough to rival most others', Näurolas' gait was swift, and as agile as it could possibly be. The voice which had shouted his name belonged to his brother, whom he had not seen in ten years.

"Legolas!" he shouted in response, even as the pair drew nearer, his heart in high spirits. It was only moments until the duo were near enough for regular speech.

"Well met, brother! I see your speed has not been slowed with age?" Legolas grinned, while dismounting his horse. 

"Nay, it seems it hasn't. Perhaps I ran faster than Lagortâl!" The horse snorted, and Näurolas chuckled, bringing a hand up to caress the mighty neck of the beast. "But I jest. It has been long since I have seen you, Legolas.  You have grown!" 

"I have," Legolas replied.

"Yes, it has been far too long. Not once did I think I would miss our Father's realm once I entered _Imladris, until I fully realized the absence of trees…" Näurolas looked then to the distant growth of forest, and smiled inwardly. "And the absence of much else I loved."_

"Ah, but tell me, brother! How fares Lord Elrond? And…"

"You care not for Elrond," Näurolas nearly bellowed at the blush this caused in his youngest brother. "You care to hear of his Ellodan and Elrohir. Do you still hold them upon their high flet?"

"Flet? There is no flet fit to hold them upon! Ah, but the battles they have seen! And the…" Legolas could have gone on for centuries, but he stopped when his brother sent him a strange look. It was a glance which was used seldom between them, only when they were parted and then reunited. "Do you see something of interest?" he asked suddenly, nearly startling Näurolas.

"Yes…" Näurolas reached forward and took one of Legolas' braids between his fingers, eyeing it closely. It was one of two hanging from each temple, which, as any elf knew, told, briefly, of events when looked upon. With age, the braids became more intricate, symbolizing many things. Näurolas' own were riddled with tales that, to mortal eyes, would be delicate knots and twists, but to any elf, could be deciphered with time. For he had lived many centuries, and, if one wished, the tale in the knots could be labeled an 'abridged version,' else his braids would reach his feet!

"Already I have been absent from many things," Näurolas began, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Show me these so-called archery skills you have now, for last I saw, you were dangerous with the bow only in your lack of aim!" Legolas blushed furiously, and his brother chuckled.

"What will you have me take aim after? There is not much in this land to target." Ah, how Legolas had missed his brother's playful banter! In response, Näurolas did not answer, he simply reached into his heavy pack and procured a large, red apple. 

"This," he whispered, and summoning his strength, threw the fruit high into the air. Reacting quickly, swifter than mortal eyes could see, Legolas readied his bow, notched an arrow, and fired with no hesitation. Sharp elven eyes could easily see that the apple was skewered. 

"Well done brother!" Näurolas' voice was filled with approval and he looked at his young sibling with a hint of awe.  "Yes, indeed you have grown. Indeed! It seems I can no longer pester you about your skills!" Näurolas laughed, and the sound was like music to his younger brother. "Come, let us go! I am anxious to see the forest again. Or perhaps ride. I _have, after all, traveled quite far!" _

No speech issued from Legolas, only a shrill whistle which resembled the song of a bird. From his grazing Lagortâl looked to the elves, before reluctantly joining them. Näurolas, looking quite disappointed, looked to Legolas. "You have not brought a steed for your tired old brother?" He smiled at the impish look in Legolas' eyes.

"Age has not slowed your speed, but it must have clouded your ears! Listen!" 

"Age has slowed nothing in me, young one! I heard her hoof beats from afar, I did not wish to spoil your childish antics!" Näurolas replied, concealing his delight at the familiar, and long-missed sound of the approaching horse, for he had seen the mare born and loved her as he would love a dear friend.  The white mare whinnied happily when she spotted Näurolas and approached with no hesitation. He softly whispered her name and many greetings, his hand absently stroking her mane.

"Come, brother!" Legolas exclaimed, as he nimbly jumped onto his own great steed. Näurolas followed suit and they began to ride slowly. Already it had been revealed that Näurolas had missed much in ten years, and the pair were eager to share their stories.


	2. Ride Hard

"So you say the twins have been… _relaxing?" Legolas almost looked disappointed. There were many days he wished to be like them – brave, strong, sons of Elrond. Aye, Legolas loved his father – more than any word could say, but to be of the generation who had seen so much! Ah…_

"Legolas, I have said this to you many times, and perhaps you will understand more now. They fight not because war beckons them, but to avenge their mother's torment. It is not happy battle. Those they kill were once our ancestors," Näurolas intervened, a knowing look crossing his features. "I remember still being your age, Legolas. I too, thought them to be as… mighty as you do. But for a decade I have resided among the jewels of Elrond, and I would not wish their fate," Näurolas sighed.

Legolas frowned. "I understand.  Do not take such subjects further. Tell me then: how went your studies in Imladris?"

"I have learned many things. The halls of fire are as you first saw them, however brief: a place to reflect, and a place to stay silent and learn our many songs, or sing with others. I know many more things now about the ways of all: dwarves, men, even elves. It was an adventure, and father was wise in his decision to send me into the Last Homely House, but I missed my home. Elrond has bid me come back in a month, if possible. I do not know if I will leave at that time, but I shall try." Näurolas reflected.

"Ah. It does not sound as intriguing as I thought it would," Legolas commented, though more to himself.

"You wished to hear of battle! Or old tales," Näurolas smiled. "Time will give me the chance to indulge your young mind. I shall stop boring you with tales of relaxation and learning! Now tell me, brother, how fares our father's realm? Is all well?"

"All is well… in some ways. The songs of the trees have a new sound of melancholy. But I do not blame them. All of our songs have become less of what they were in their happiness. Father has increased the hold upon the door! Never would I think things would become so strict like this, though I have heard from many tales of times becoming dark. Can you not hear the trees?" 

"You speak before thinking, Legolas. I am too far from our home to hear the voices of our old friends! Have you not noticed their absence?" Näurolas quipped, hiding his smile at the stunned look upon his brother's profile.

"It's true! I cannot hear them!" Legolas exclaimed. "Alas, that I have never been this far from our home! I had not noticed," Legolas almost sounded hurt that his brother had chided him so, though it was their normal fare of speech.

The smile upon Näurolas' face grew larger and he reached to his left, and squeezed his youngest brother's shoulder tightly.  "Seventy years has taught you many things, young prince, but you must journey more often. Perhaps father will allow me to take you exploring. For though I know the many paths as well as one would know their lover; I would gladly take you across them. For an elf who does not notice such things, is a sorry elf indeed!" 

"Aye. Father says I assume too much. I suppose I have thoroughly proven myself!" Legolas smiled brightly, looking ahead. The forest was nearing, and his heart was high, but his clear elven eyes could see that there was something different about the forest, even from afar. He looked to Näurolas, and tried to gauge the strange look upon his brother's face. 

"Legolas, urge your steed into a run. Ride! Something is wrong." Näurolas all but whispered, even as he followed his own orders. He allowed his young brother to ride ahead of him, though he knew his beloved mare could easily outrun the aging Lagortâl. 

Just when Legolas thought to ask why they were rushing, he heard the familiar song of arrows. His eyes grew wide, for as they caught a glimpse of the first shaft, he knew they were not of elvish origin. 

'_Yrch… in Mirkwood? What is this?_' Näurolas thought to himself, urging his mare into a faster run. "Fly, Legolas!" he all but screamed, passing his youngest brother. He could see the fear written on Legolas' face, though when their eyes met it seemed the younger elf gained some sort of strength seeing his brother. "Fly!" Näurolas mouthed the words, casting his glance into the spare, yet still abundant, trees surrounding the edges of the dense forest. He could see many Orcs, and knew the pair were outnumbered. Speed would be their only ally and he hoped against all that among archery Legolas had mastered horse-riding. 'He rides an old steed, which can only tell me he is not accustomed to speed as of yet. He is young…' Just then he heard the shrill cry of Lagortâl, and Näurolas whirled the great mare beneath him into a stop and a full turn behind.

Lagortâl had been pierced by a cleverly aimed arrow, and he caught the last glimpse of his youngest brother flying from the steed. "Legolas!" he shouted, spurring the beast beneath him towards his sibling. Legolas, looking quite afraid, stood, and ran to his brother, nimbly jumping to the back of his horse.

"Go!" Legolas shouted, and Näurolas nodded. He did not have to urge the horse into anything, as she was just as shocked at the loss of Lagortâl as the two elves. On they rode towards the great gate of the palace, and they were halfway there before they realized the assault had completely stopped. Näurolas, thoroughly confused, turned his head as best he could towards Legolas. His golden hair was disheveled, a few leaves caught in the tresses. He seemed unharmed, though the look of stark fear was still etched into his features.

"Is this a normal occurrence here since my departure?" Näurolas, too, was breathless, but his brother was practically gasping for air. Legolas' frightened gray eyes turned to his older brother and he nodded. 

"I have heard of it. What were they? Were they Orcs?" Legolas was finally calming himself, having finally noticed the assault had stopped. Näurolas couldn't help but smile.

"Yes, they were." The concerned look upon Näurolas' face did not leave, and the rest of the ride to Thranduil's palace – their home – was made in silence.


	3. Strange Behavior

A weary smile brightened Thranduil's features when he saw his sons ride safe through the gates. "Näurolas! Legolas! You are safe then," but the King's heart sank at the missing horse.   
  
"Lagortâl was shot, father," Legolas bowed his head sadly. Lagortâl was not been his steed, but he was a beloved beast, indeed. "It seems the rumors I have heard are true, father. Orcs were on the borders of our forest," Legolas straightened his shoulders, and acted as regal as she could. Both Näurolas and Thranduil looked to the young elf and their eyes sparkled at his attempt.  
  
"Araîel," Thranduil's regal gaze moved to his beloved daughter, and she looked at him in return. "Bring Legolas to his chambers. Be sure my son is unharmed. I must speak with Näurolas. He has missed much, if tidings have not passed through Imladris. Come, Näurolas!"  
  
Thranduil turned on his heel, with his eldest son trailing behind him. Soon they were in the King's private quarters, and all was silent for a while. After a few moments, the King reached out and embraced Näurolas. "I have missed you, my son," he whispered, pulling back from the warm embrace and smiling.   
  
"You seem weary, father," Näurolas' voice was troubled.   
  
"Aye."  
  
"Legolas does not know what orcs are?" Näurolas asked, raising an eyebrow. He wished to dive straight to the point. Although he would normally find his young ignorance quite amusing, he felt this was a serious matter.  
  
"He does, but had never laid eyes upon one." Thranduil sighed. "It was my fondest wish that he never would. Alas! I can hold the gates with ease, but with this… shadow, it becomes more and more taxing to hold the borders. If your mother were still here…" Thranduil's voice grew soft, and he looked sadly towards his son, and Näurolas caught a strange flash of anger before it swiftly disappeared.   
  
"So this shadow, as you call it, troubles even you?" Näurolas raised an eyebrow and eyed his father closely as yet another flash of anger troubled his gaze. This time the emotion caused a slight shudder to coarse through the King.  
  
"Yes, of course it does! Why would it not!? I am the one who must protect my people!" Thranduil yelled. Näurolas frowned and locked eyes with his father. His gaze penetrated and probed the King for an answer to his sudden outburst. Something was definitely wrong! He could easily sense that the darkness both he and Legolas had hinted to was creeping through his father's mind. The air was thick with tension when Näurolas finally broke his probing stare and looked to the floor.   
  
"How much does he know?" Näurolas asked, and he heard the king sigh.  
  
"He knows tales and stories of Orcs, nothing more. Why?" Thranduil asked suspiciously.  
  
"This is far from a merry welcome, father, though I admit freely that it was I who steered our speech thus. Ten years it has been since I've seen you, and already you have treated simple questions with disdain," Näurolas was clearly hurt and Thranduil softened his stance in defeat. "Lord Elrond has taught me much, and I have improved many skills. I do not think that before I left I would have been able to hold your gaze for so long, and read so much."  
  
"What did you see?" Thranduil almost looked afraid.  
  
"This shadow affects you as much as the forest. You look to me now as one who has learned that a coveted secret has been stolen from his mind. Father, do not look at me so! For I read no words from you, only a fear and darkness. This troubles me!" Näurolas could not find respectful words to say. For though Thranduil was beloved to him, he was also his King.  
  
"It is something I can control, Näurolas. You are young, compared to me. I have seen many things and dealt with much grief. This shadow from the south is far less than some of the things I have known! If you fear for me, fear not. And if you suspect me, suspect not. It is a battle I shall easily win," Thranduil said, in defense of himself.   
  
"You need not worry then, father," Näurolas placed a hand on his father's shoulder reassuringly. "I suspected nothing. But I fear still, for I have never seen you troubled so, and I will not see my father, or my king fall!"  
  
Thranduil smiled and clasped the arm upon his shoulder. "Go now to your brother and sister. Araîel has missed you overmuch, I should think, and Legolas… to him you are perhaps more great and wise than I! Ten years I have dealt with him speaking of 'the greatness of Näurolas, heir to the throne, and my brother!'" Thranduil laughed at the furious change of color in Näurolas' cheeks, releasing his son from his gentle grip.   
  
"Yes, I will go to them. Araîel has proved her strength in watching Legolas in my stead, and I shall gladly relieve her." Näurolas quipped, and father and son shared a merry laugh.   
  
"There will come a day, indeed, when Legolas' gifts shall be used for things far greater than defending these woods. Näurolas," Thranduil looked upon his son carefully for a moment, "Teach him well of the tales of battle and darkness you learned from the Lord Elrond. For I feel in my heart he will someday have great need for the knowledge of the past!" and with that, Thranduil bid Näurolas leave him, and with many thoughts racing through his mind, he obeyed his father, walking the familiar steps towards Legolas' chambers.


End file.
